


No exception

by AnadoraBlack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Everyone has a crush on Oliver, F/M, M/M, same though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25847572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnadoraBlack/pseuds/AnadoraBlack
Summary: Everyone has had a crush on Oliver Wood. Everyone. The man's talents on a broom ensnared them all.
Relationships: Oliver Wood/Everyone
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello people!  
> This is a collection of one-shots that are, admitedly, just pure shite. In that, it's not serious at all, could be repetitive, but also, could not stop nagging at me until I wrote it down. Some 'chapters' will be longer than others, depending on my inspiration for this or that character.  
> I hope you enjoy the mess that I've made.  
> Oliver wasn't my first Potter crush for nothing... ;)

_ Hermione Granger _

She was twelve the first time that Hermione Jean Granger spent a whole Quidditch match – one Hufflepuff V Gryffindor – staring not at her best friend, but at his team captain, even if the match itself lasted five mere minutes.

She was twelve when the same Hermione Jean Granger realised that Oliver Wood really was a handsome young man.

Obviously, being who she was, Hermione thought nothing more of it. After all, she never had to interact with the guy other than watching him from the Quidditch stands or when he met with Harry for practice. They had never talked. Not that she didn’t know what he sounded like either.

The guy was Scottish. She was sure that, in itself, his accent made people swoon. And she said ‘people’, not ‘girls’. Because there was no way Oliver Wood was not also making guys’ heads turn.

She was twelve when Hermione Jean Granger found herself blushing to the roots of her hair when Oliver Wood met her gaze when she and Ronald made their way to the pit to congratulate Harry on yet another victory.

Yup, he really was a handsome young man…

* * *

_ Luna Lovegood _

It really was too bad that Harry Potter’s team was losing, really. At least that’s what eleven-year-old Luna Lovegood was thinking as she was watching the game amongst her other Ravenclaws who were, for their part, cheering their own House, obviously.

She was sitting front rank on the stands, having been arrived early enough to see the two teams practice. She liked it, as it helped her mind get free of the Nargles. She liked the Weasley brothers the most, she thought, because they were funny even when on a broom.

But right now, she was most interested in the person guarding the hoops.

Luna couldn’t remember his name, she just knew he was the Captain of Gryffindor’s team, and to be honest, he was quite nice to look at.

A wistful sigh to Luna’s left as said Captain caught a Quaffle told her she wasn’t the only one to appreciate his form. To be fair, he held himself almost gracefully on his broom. There was something whimsical about his way of flying here and there and catching the Quaffles – which he did less and less often, though, to his obvious discontent.

Luna decided that, just for that poetically handsome Keeper, she’d cheer Gryffindor in the upcoming matches. Yes, there was no doubt about that.

“What’s the lions’ Captain’s name again?” she asked to the wind.

It didn’t answer.


	2. Ginny Weasley/Harry Potter

_ Ginny Weasley _

Ginevra Weasley had been raised in the respect of Quidditch. She loved the sport, adored it, and was not bad herself on a broom, if she may say so. Madam Hooch had told her she had a good chance of being picked for Gryffindor’s team in upcoming years; and she made a show of beating Charlie when they played in the Burrow’s orchard each summer.

She loved the game, and she loved even more Gryffindor’s current Seeker, who wasn’t her brother, but Harry Potter. She’d loved watching him fly ever since the first time she’d witnessed it, but at school, during matches, she found her gaze wavering.

Fred and George would no doubt have a field day when they realised that she was openly ogling their team Captain, but Ginny couldn’t help herself. Oliver Wood atop a broom was something to behold. As burly and almost clumsy as he was on land, he was graceful and unattainable in the air.

She sighed more than once, watching him catch Quaffle after Quaffle, denying Slytherin House their first goal.

It was annoying to have a crush, alright. It was even more annoying to have two.

When it came to Quidditch, Ginny Weasley had good tastes. Really, really good tastes.

She smirked when Gryffindor Team won, and Oliver flew down to embrace his team and her brothers. His robes clung to him, showcasing his muscles, and even from such a distance, she could see his smile.

Oh yes, very good tastes indeed.

* * *

_ Harry Potter _

Harry had fallen in love with Quidditch the first time he’d ever played it. Heck, he’d fallen in love with the sport before he even knew what it was about, when he flew past Malfoy to catch a Remembrall.

When the Snitch was being difficult and hid out of sight, Harry often took the time to watch the other players and how they moved. He greatly appreciated the Weasley twins’ form, the way they played off each other perfectly, as if they knew each other’s moves intimately – which they did – but, more than that, he loved to watch Oliver.

He was bossy, and obsessed with Quidditch, would be depressed beyond belief everytime they’d lose, but damn, the man was something else when he was defending their hoops. He flew from side to side, making figures Harry would have never imagined possible atop a broom, and was just simply extraordinary to look at.

It was always a bit of a disappointment to have to look for the Snitch when Oliver played particularly well. Sometimes, Harry wished he could just watch.

And when he could, many years later, show James and Albus just what the fuss was about, he’d go and admire Oliver’s form from Puddlemere United’s stands, the same incredulous look on his face as he watched the Scot fly from hoop to hoop like he was born on a broomstick…


	3. Pansy Parkinson/Minerva McGonagall

_ Pansy Parkinson _

Pansy was _pissed off_. Truly pissed off. So pissed off, in fact, that she took the risk of jinxing a passing First Year as she exited the Quidditch stands after a match. If she lost Slytherin some points, so be it. She was too angry.

Not that she was that angry because Slytherin had once again lost to Gryffindor. Obviously, it was a bummer, because now, Brown and her clique would be able to boast some more about it in class. There also was the fact that poor Draco would be disappointed. But Pansy knew that the offer of some nasty curses thrown at innocent students would cheer him up. It always did.

No, what had Pansy Parkinson in such a state wasn’t the defeat.

It was the fact that she was attracted to one of Gryffindor’s players. _That_ was inacceptable. That was _shameful_ , _disgusting_ , and _horrifying_.

But, Salazar be her witness, she couldn’t help herself.

Whatever the dude’s name was, he was a sight to behold, guarding the hoops as he did.

And dear Merlin, his smile was dreamy.

Oh, she needed to jinx someone else. Soon…

* * *

_ Minerva McGonagall _

She’d been pleasantly surprised when the invite had arrived at her home. Generally, Minerva McGonagall’s summers were filled with boredom, too many books and a calendar that impatiently waited for the new school-year to start.

This time, however, she’d received an interesting, if not short, letter, along with a VIP ticket to a Quidditch game.

She hadn’t heard from Oliver Wood since he’d graduated, but she was glad he had remembered her enough to invite her to one of his games. She’d always enjoyed watching him play.

The change from his Gryffindor days was drastic. First, of course, there was the fact that Puddlemere United’s team wore blue robes, instead of the crimson Wood had worn during his school years. Second, he wasn’t Captain anymore, and had barely made the team that day, since he usually was a reserve. Third, the opposing team was way more talented than Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Slytherin.

This didn’t change the fact that Minerva McGonagall soon found herself giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush, watching her former pupil defend his hoops with panache and many waves and smiles towards her in the VIP stands.

She was ashamed for a moment, then reminded herself that no harm was done in appreciating the talent of someone, especially from afar.

And Oliver Wood definitely was talented enough to make her blush…


	4. Cho Chang/Sirius Black

_ Cho Chang _

Cho was über frustrated. They’d lost their first match of the Quidditch season, and not by a fair margin that would show that Ravenclaw’s team was as good as Gryffindor’s, no. They’d lost 360 to 10. The sole goal that Davies managed to score had been pure luck, she’d seen it. Wood had stopped all the other Quaffles.

She hated that the guy flew so well. She hated that he was so good on a broom, that he was so good at strategizing. She hated that he wasn’t in Ravenclaw.

Oliver Wood had been the bane of her existence for a while, by then. If only he hadn’t been so cute.

So, after a match that rendered her super angry with herself, her own team and him, she almost tore her Quidditch robes away from herself, dressed back into her school robes, and strode out of the changing rooms, heading towards the opposing team’s.

The Weasley twins exited the place first, eyeing her weirdly as they passed her, as if wondering why she’d be there when her boyfriend Cedric Diggory was not in their changing room.

She waited until Wood got out. She admired his chiselled jaw, his hazel eyes, his muscly form. She pursed her lips, even angrier with herself, and waited until he’d spotted her to get closer.

She outstretched a hand for him to shake. “Good flying, Wood. I hate you.” And she walked away.

* * *

_ Sirius Black _

He’d gone to the Quidditch pit to see Harry fly. He’d passed the Dementors, snuck through a secret passage, put himself in danger, to see his godson fly, alright? Not to gawk, albeit in his Padfoot form, at Harry’s Captain.

Dang, but Sirius had always been a sucker for handsome and sporty people… When he’d played in the Quidditch team, one year, he had been one person short to shagging everyone on the roster. Even the reserves. If only James hadn’t been Chaser…or if only James had been more open to experiments…

But right then, even though Harry was doing marvels on his broom, even then, Sirius – or Padfoot – couldn’t really take his eyes off that Keeper. He didn’t know his name – although the commentator said something like ‘Hood’ once in a while, through the roaring wind – but he didn’t care: the guy was a snack.

Then Sirius tried to berate himself: the poor lad must have been underage for all he knew. It wouldn’t do to have impure thoughts about an underage guy just because he was bloody alluring on that broom of his…

Almost two years to that day, when he caught sight of a photograph of Puddlemere’s team, and when a familiar hot man caught his eye, tagged ‘Oliver Wood, the team’s newest Keeper, 20’, he couldn’t help but running through the kitchen, catching Remus by the collar, spinning him around with a mad barking laugh, and announce “He wasn’t underage!”.

Remus didn’t get it.


	5. Angelina Johnson/Fleur Delacour

_ Angelina Johnson _

Damn him. Damn him and the way he couldn’t even see what was right in front of his eyes. She’d tried, though, for years, she’d tried. And still, Oliver Wood had kept on resisting her.

The moment she was taken on the team – thank Charlie Weasley for that, by the way – he’d caught her eye. Damn right clumsy and ungraceful as he was on land, the man cut such a figure when he was in the air, that George had once playfully conjured a handkerchief for her to ‘wipe the drool off [her] chin’.

Oliver was single. In all her years at Hogwarts, Angelina had never known him to have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, for that matter. She’d tried bribing his roommates for information, but they hadn’t had any to give her – not to mention Percy’s threat to report her childish snooping to Professor McGonagall. Oliver was married to Quidditch. Fred and George often joked about it, joked about him sleeping with his broom, and after a while, she’d started believing it…

But Godric help her, it took a lot of concentration and willpower to just not hover in front of the hoops and watching him during the whole match, instead of doing her job and looking at the Quaffle instead of her Captain.

If he caught her looking, he never said. Perhaps he never realised.

He was that dumb.

* * *

_ Fleur Delacour _

Admidst the chaos of the day, admidst the dying or dead people she could see around her, admisdt the curses, spells and jinxes that flew all around and over her, Fleur was afraid.

She’d come to this Battle because it was out of the question that she let Bill put himself in danger without her. She’d faced those Death-Eaters once before – when she had been hideous and skinny and a man – but this was on another level.

Destruction left and right, death in front and behind, she was lost. She couldn’t see her husband anywhere, and the fact that she still managed to deflect whatever curses came her way had to be pure luck, or reflexes.

Next to this, the maze of her Third Task had been a piece of wedding cake…

“ _Duck!_ ” someone said, and Fleur acted without even knowing if she was the one who had to duck. A Death Eater nearby had cast a spell that zoomed over her head – but would have struck her in the chest – and he fell to a curse sent from above.

A man on a broom zoomed past, whirling around gracefully, avoiding giants, spells, stones, and felling more enemies than most people present in the courtyard.

Entranced, Fleur watched him fly for a few seconds. She’d never been good at that, flying. But she could watch people who flew well.

She hoped this man survived this. That they all did, so that she could ask Bill for his name; for she could find and thank him properly for saving her life…


	6. Nymphadora Tonks/Viktor Krum

_ Nymphadora Tonks _

Nymphadora Tonks, who preferred to go by ‘Tonks’, was very fond of Quidditch. She’d always been too clumsy on a broom to dare try for Hufflepuff’s team when she’d been at Hogwarts, but she hadn’t stopped being enthusiastic as Hell about the sport, taking every opportunity she had to go and spectate a match, be it at school or after.

When she’d been at Hogwarts, she had the great displeasure of having to witness her House team getting obliterated by Gryffindor each and every time. Courtesy of Charlie Weasley’s talent on a broom and, later, when she’d been in Sixth Year, courtesy of Gryffindor’s newest Keeper, a boy named Oliver Wood. Who was damned gifted when he was in the air.

Tonks hated Oliver Wood’s tendency to stop every Quaffle sent his way by Hufflepuff’s – and any House’s – Chasers. But once she’d graduated, once he’d graduated too, and once he’d been signed onto Puddlemere United, she didn’t hate him anymore.

Personally, she had a soft spot for Holyhead Harpies, but once the all-women’s team met Puddlemere’s, she had a hard time rooting for either side.

Oliver Wood had been a clever purchase on the blue team’s side. Sat on the stands among Harpies’ fans, she couldn’t help but cheer each time he stopped a Quaffle, each time in a more dangerously stylish fashion. It caught the ears of others, who seemed to ponder why she was cheering for the opposite team’s Keeper, but she could care less.

In the end, the Harpies won – their Seeker was unbeatable – but Tonks still waited at Puddlemere’s door to catch a glimpse of their insanely talented Keeper.

Unsurprisingly, she tripped as she was trying to get a better look, and made a cohort of journalists stumble and fall like dominoes, unwittingly paving the way for her to meet with the team and one Oliver Wood.

“Hi,” she said with a bright smile, “could I have an autograph?”

The boy’s hazel eyes widened. He wasn’t used to having to sign anything, she guessed, especially after his team-mates chuckled and addressed the matter with a ‘usually, it’s Damian who gets the pretty girls’ attention, enjoy, Woodsy’.

After a moment, though, he sheepishly nodded and signed the piece of paper she’d conjured.

She might have spilled ink on him when she handed him a quill, though. He didn’t seem to mind, so she shrugged the matter off, happy with her autograph. One of the many that Oliver Wood would no doubt have to sign for then on…

* * *

_ Viktor Krum _

As a famed Quidditch player himself, Viktor Krum was a bit biased when he witnessed other teams playing. He’d had a hard time admitting that Harry Potter was a really good flyer when he’d seen him atop his broom for the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. It was how he was: unwilling to admit that anyone else than him might excel in his beloved sport.

As Bulgaria’s most famous Seeker, he’d had to play against England a few times, usually, to bit the heck out of them in trials for World Cups. They weren’t really good. Usually, as stated before.

In 2000, for a friendly, Bulgaria and England met again. This time, Bulgaria lost. Hard. And all due to one man’s efforts to stop Krum’s team-mates from scoring.

After a few minutes of hearing ‘England scores!’ through the howling of the wind, and no ‘Bulgaria scores!’, he’d stopped searching for the Snitch and turned to see exactly who was making his life a misery.

The guy’s name was Oliver Wood. If Viktor’s memory served him well, he’d been Captain at Hogwarts for Harry’s team, as the younger man had mentioned his Scottish Keeper several times over the years. He also had been an honorary member of the Order of the Phoenix at the end of the war.

Truth was, even if Viktor knew his name, he hadn’t been prepared for the sheer talent this man was displaying. The saves he was making against Bulgaria’s best Chaser – one of the best in the world, too – were incredible, and dazzling. Almost too dazzling for Viktor to catch sight of the Snitch again.

He caught it, but they lost. And he had to grumpily congratulate Wood for his excellent flying. In one of those rare occurrences when he had to admit that someone might be as talented as him on a broom. Not more talented. He drew a line there.


	7. Fred Weasley/Kingsley Shacklebolt

_ Fred Weasley _

George had a point. A nasty, super embarrassing point. But he had it nonetheless.

Fred had a crush on Oliver. Possibly had a crush on him since the first training he and George attended as Gryffindor’s new Beaters. It had been a while, and it was a bit annoying, to say the least.

First, it was distracting. He kept on looking towards the hoops, not to check how the team’s Captain was faring, but rather to ogle him like one of those groupies that surrounded him once the match was over. Second, it was embarrassing. No person who wanted to be taken seriously by their Quidditch Captain would want to start drooling in the middle of a meeting. Which had happened. To Fred’s mortification.

Not that he actually wanted to do anything about that schoolboy crush. It was just that and, as Hogwarts drew to a close for him and George, it appeared that he had a chance to nail Angelina Johnson, finally, which he wasn’t going to pass. It appeared he had a thing for attractive Quidditch players.

Besides, Oliver was annoyingly straight as far as he knew.

And anyways, it was embarrassing. Drooling over Oliver, at a Quidditch meeting? He was lucky that everyone bought his stupid excuse that he had a cold… George didn’t, but George was easily blackmailed into silence…

* * *

_ Kingsley Shacklebolt _

“What’s the name of that kid?” Kingsley asked the closest person to him on the stands.

A tiny Ravenclaw looked up at him, wide-eyed and a little shocked upon being addressed by an adult, he saw. She looked back to the pitch and who he was gesturing towards, and back at him before squeaking out an “Oliver Wood, Sir. He’s Gryffindor’s Captain.”

Kingsley nodded absent-mindedly, admiring the young man’s form despite the less than ideal weather conditions.

He’d been forced to attend Hogwarts first match of the season, initially set between Gryffindor and Slytherin, the latter team which had dropped at the last moment, forcing Hufflepuff to face the crimson-clad house in pouring rain, howling wind and what looked like a brewing storm.

If Sirius Black ever showed up that day, he was even more of an idiot than Kingsley thought…

Anyways, icy rain and howling wind aside, it was rather pleasant to watch, Quidditch. Especially the boy he’d enquired on the name of a few seconds prior. Mr Wood was rather talented as a Keeper. He flew as if the weather wasn’t against him at all.

“Quite impressive,” he said, as if the poor little girl would be listening. “I might have to talk about him to Gwenog…” Yes, he did know the Captain for the Holyhead Harpies. Yes, he also knew that that particular team would never take a man within its ranks. But he also knew that Quidditch was a small world, and that Gwenog knew who to tell about a potential and possibly well-spent addition to their team…

Yes, Kingsley thought after yet another risky manoeuvre and just before a dazed Harry Potter fell from the sky, yes, he’d tell Gwenog about young Oliver Wood…


	8. Cedrid Diggory/Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank

_ Cedric Diggory _

Cedric and his girlfriend Cho shared a lot of things. Their love of Muggle cricket, for one. Their passion for Quidditch, obviously. But also, rather surprisingly, their tendency to stare a bit rudely at Gryffindor’s Captain whenever their teams played the lions.

He and Cho has discussed Oliver Wood one evening that had turned into an awkward moment for both. It had all started rather innocently, with Cedric remarking on Wood’s form when Hufflepuff went against Gryffindor the previous morning. Cho had agreed that the man was more than talented when flying, and it had since turned into a two-hour-long praise, in details.

Cedric remembering zoning out a bit when they had started reminiscing some of Oliver’s more risky manoeuvres, things that, as Seekers, they wouldn’t even dream of doing, despite being considered the most dangerous post in Quidditch. He had zoned out, picturing with worrying accuracy the strain of Wood’s muscles against his Quidditch robes when he’d hung from his broom with one arm to be able to shoot the Quaffle away with his foot. The strength he had showcased when he’d pulled himself back onto his Comet 260, the claps and cheers coming from more than Gryffindor House.

Cho had called him out on it, a smirk on her lips as she had said he had a crush on the Quidditch Captain. Cedric had dismissed it with a wave and a huff, only to call her on her own bluff when she zoned out in a similar fashion.

Cedric and his girlfriend Cho shared a lot of things. Apparently, they had to add an inconvenient attraction to Oliver Wood to the list…

* * *

_ Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank _

As a Hogwarts teacher, there were expectations that one had to exceed.

As an honorary Care for Magical Creatures alumni, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank was more determined than most to make a good impression, to appear void of any fault, just in case Hagrid didn’t return or gave her his post forever.

She was severe towards students in a way that she would never be if she wasn’t in such a precarious situation; and she found herself snapping at creatures more often than she wished.

Professor Dumbledore did not help the matter, often reminding her that Hagrid would not be long, now, that he’ll soon be back, and she will be able to return to her ‘quieter way of life’. If the old Headmaster was taunting her on purpose, she didn’t know, nor did she dare to question him about it.

She only knew that one of the exceedingly rare occurrences when she could relax and be her more joyful, cheery self, was when there was a Quidditch match.

Wilhelmina, or ‘Mina’, as most of her friends and acquaintances called her – though nobody at Hogwarts did it – rather enjoyed watching a good bit of sports. And, after a while, she realised that she was much more enthusiastic about one House in particular.

Some would have said that she cheered louder for Gryffindor House just because Harry Potter was their Seeker. She knew that most of her closer acquaintances out of school would have acted that way, in a bid to become chummy with the Boy-who-Lived. Pathetic.

The truth was, she rather enjoyed watching one player, and it wasn’t the famed Potter, but his Captain, the Keeper. Oliver Wood was not following her cursus, but she knew who he was alright. She knew most of the Six Years students, of any House for that matter, giggled whenever they caught sight of the boy. She had never really enquired on the reason since he was quite clumsy when on land.

Now she knew why they giggled. And, if she hadn’t been a responsible and respectable Professor, she would have giggled too.

And in fact, she did blush a bit when Gryffindor did a victory lap and the Captain caught her eye…stupid. (Then again, since Minerva seemed as disturbed with her own blushing, she guessed she wasn’t the only teacher to feel like a teenager again when around that boy…)


	9. Pomona Sprout/Narcissa Malfoy

_ Pomona Sprout _

Professor Sprout liked quite a lot of things in life. One of those things was to take care of her precious plants, rare or not, priceless or not. Another one of those things was to act like teenager whenever she was in the vicinity of one Minerva McGonagall.

Currently, both teachers were enjoying their summer together at a Quidditch match. Her nephew, who worked at the Ministry, had won tickets, and had gifted them to her. In turn, she’d invited Minerva, to spend time around her friend, but also, because the stern Transfiguration teacher knew one of the day’s players.

“Oooh, Minerva,” she cooed, nudging her friend with her elbow, “if I was twenty years younger…”

Her friend rolled her eyes, unsurprisingly, but still, a slight blush rose to her pale cheeks. One that she’d no doubt blame on the Firewhiskey they’d drunk, if asked. “If you were fifty years younger, you mean, Pomona.”

“Oh, don’t be a spoilt sport,” she giggled, once more raising her binoculars to watch the handsome Quidditch Keeper stop another Quaffle. “You just want to keep the lad to yourself…”

“Pomona!” Minerva said, utterly outraged. “How could you-”

“Calm down,” the Herbology teacher soothed, licking her lips when Oliver Wood made another pass that showcased his bulging muscles, “I was only kidding. But still,” she said wistfully, dropping her binoculars again, “I wish we’d had such handsome young men around us when we were the appropriate age…”

To her surprise, her usually stone-faced colleague nodded, mirroring her sigh. “So do I, Pomona, so do I…”

* * *

_ Narcissa Malfoy _

It was not in any Slytherin’s habits to enjoy looking at people not of their own House. With the odd exception of people who were now ostracised from their families – like her own sister, she was reminded bitterly – every Pureblood in existence knew that, if faced with beauty in the wrong coloured robes, one had to scowl, and look away.

Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, had received a pristine education. She had never looked at another man than her intended, even back when she hadn’t really been fond of him. She’s never acknowledged the handsomeness of others – not even her very agreeably-looking cousin, bane of their family’s existence – and she’s certainly never looked at a younger man with the intensity that she was now displaying.

She’d come to Hogwarts to visit Draco, taking the opportunity of a Quidditch match. Her son wasn’t playing, which gave them plenty of time to catch up and talk.

After fifteen minutes, though, her attention had swerved from her son to the young man who was tirelessly denying Ravenclaw a goal. She didn’t know his name, nor did she care to know it, but he was definitely agreeable to watch, rather striking, and all this ogling would have made her mother red in the face and her own cheek hurt from the slap she’d have no doubt earned.

Narcissa Malfoy was used to not looking at handsome men in wrong-coloured robes. That day, though, she decided to fail in that task…


	10. Rita Skeeter/Hestia Jones

_ Rita Skeeter _

‘ ** _JUST IN:_** _EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH PUDDLEMERE UNITED’S NEWEST STAR: KEEPER OLIVER WOOD._

_ By: Rita Skeeter _

_Oliver Wood, a young man of twenty-five, welcomes me in Puddlemere United’s headquarters, in a rather gloomy room apparently made for visitors. Tall, broad of shoulders with hazel eyes, a killer smile and a dreamy Scottish accent, the team’s newest eye-candy starts by answering vague questions about his background – a plain childhood in Inverness, Scotland – before we swerve onto more juicy information._

_Wood, who was Sorted in Gryffindor House in 1987, was Quidditch Captain from 1991 until the end of his cursus in 1994, and was famously Harry Potter’s mentor when the Boy-Who-Lived climbed on a broom for the first time._

_When asked if the famed saviour of the Wizarding World learnt a lot from him, Wood modestly answers that Potter ‘knew his way around a broom, instinctively, and [I] just needed to teach him the sport’. In truth, some of Wood and Potter’s then comrades reported that the Scot taught Potter everything he knew about flying, and that Potter was quite clumsy the first times around, as is obvious when faced with the fiasco of his very first Quidditch match. (A full account of said match, as retold by Miss Pansy Parkinson, can be found on page 5.)_

_Wood was also involved in the terrible so-called ‘Battle of Hogwarts’ that took place on the 2 nd May 1998. Many have said that he saved their lives, swooping in on his trusted Firebolt – a gift from Puddlemere’s coach when he made reserve in 1995. Surprisingly, that didn’t earn him any recognition. (A detailed essay on why Oliver Wood deserved the Order of Merlin, First Class, and why Minister Shacklebolt made a poor decision, can be found on page 12.)_

_The following picture shows Wood earlier this year next to one Ginny Potter, née Weasley. Rumours have stated that the two Quidditch sensations spend quite a lot of time together in-between practise and matches, and that Potter’s husband, the aforementioned Boy-Who-Lived, is considering filing for divorce, on the grounds of adultery. (For more information on the real reason for Potter’s lack of love for his wife and about his rekindled affair with Hermione Granger, see page 6 to 8.)_ ’

Rita closed her pad, content with what she had managed to write, and about the information she’d gathered.

True, the pictures of Oliver Wood and Ginny Potter were damning, but the young man hadn’t shied away from her flirting with him, smiling nicely at her throughout the interview. He’d refused her offer for a drink afterwards, but she was pretty convinced he had refused just for show.

Wood was as clever as he was gorgeous: he surely knew he wouldn’t get a better catch than Rita Skeeter.

* * *

_ Hestia Jones _

The Battle was raging. Order members were fighting on every front: inside the castle; outside in the courtyard; in the Forbidden Forest; even in the air.

Hestia had arrived along with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, well past midnight, when Kingsley Shacklebolt had managed to call for reinforcements. She would never have imagined the magnitude of the war she’d find herself landing in the middle of.

Death Eater upon Death Eater jinxed her, cursed her, tried to use the Killing Curse on her, but each time, she deflected or ducked out of the way before landing a jinx of her own. She’d chosen to stay outside, to try and stop their enemies from entering the school; to protect the children.

At one point, though, she didn’t see the massive boulder being thrown in her general direction by what appeared to be a giant. She owed her life only to pure luck, and to a man on a broom who, passing by, swooped her up behind him and out of the way of the stone.

“Thank you!” she yelled into the wind. But when he lowered his broom to let her back down on the ground, he merely nodded at her, hazel eyes grim, faced covered in scratched and blood, before he took flight again.

It was only after everything was over, after the Dark Lord, their Enemy, had been killed by Harry and taken to a side room like a pitiful corpse; after Hogwarts started rounding up their dead and started mourning, that Hestia found her saviour again.

He was sitting on an upturned table, twirling his wand between his fingers, eyes blurry, as if he was far away.

She stared at him, trying to put an age or even a name to those features. He was tall, that she had seen when he’d saved her. Brow-haired, hazel-eyed, he had broad shoulders, muscles that strained against his shirt, and an overall striking physique.

Plainly speaking, he was handsome.

So, she sat next to him, and outstretched a hand. “Hestia Jones. Thank you for saving my life earlier.”

He stared at it, then a small smile lifted the corner of his lips, and he shook her hand back. “Oliver Wood,” he said, the cute rolling of his ‘r’s betraying his origins as he added “you’re very welcome.”


End file.
